This is a common bumper sticker around these parts. The first time I saw it, my reaction was, "No way. Santa Cruz has ownership of THAT slogan." However, after 7 months here, I recognize that the slogan is both appropriate and, I think, a source of pride. It honors a different type of weirdness than that vibrating from Santa Cruz and I'm glad I have been able to experience both weirdnesses.
I think Portland's weirdness is beautifully showcased in the television program, Portlandia. If you haven't see it, get ready. It is very different from the usual TV fare. Think early years of Saturday Night Live. It has the same unevenness - some skits work, others don't, some need editing but when they hit, they are so very funny. I'd describe the premise as taking something unique to Portland - a local trend, fashion statement, political event and then tweaking it. Exaggerating it. When I am watching it, I am in awe of the writers' abilities to capture an essence of Portland. Unlike SNL, there are only two main characters and many of the skits are ongoing. Very funny - in its own weird way.
Today's outing illustrates the unique style of life in Portland. It started out with an incredible weather forecast. It's going to be sunny and warm this weekend - 81 degrees tomorrow. No rain expected at all. It has been so gray for the last several weeks that this is truly amazing. Right now it's 74 degrees and, for the first time since last Fall, I am in shorts and my very favorite beat-up-but-fit-perfectly flip flops are on my feet. Ah, heaven! And the view out my attic window? Bright sun shines on my SE Avenue and all the tulips, rhododendron blossoms and daffodils sparkle. Lots of kids outside playing. Bee-you-tee-ful.
But this Saturday morning didn't start out that way; it was the usual overcast and cool. Even so, I made the decision to leave my hoodie behind when I left for my volunteer job down town at the main branch of the library. I didn't want to have to carry my hoodie when the sun broke through so I hugged my light knit short-sleeved top close as I stood on McLaughlin waiting for my bus. Another man came up and we chatted - the usual bus stop chatter - the weather, what was happening in the neighborhood around us, etc. Suddenly a car pulled over into the bus zone and the woman driver waved at us. The man stepped forward, leaned in, listened and then turned to me, "She wants to talk to you." Much surprised I leaned forward to hear her ask, "Are you warm enough? If not, do you want this jacket?" as she pointed to one on her passenger seat. I was stunned, shook my head, thanked her, and assured her I was okay. As she drove off, the man and I looked at each other and agreed this was amazing, although he added that he too was surprised at how I was dressed. At this point another horrid thought entered my mind but I did not have the nerve to ask, "Do I look pathetic and homeless?" Didn't want to hear his answer but, in thinking about it, I KNOW I didn't. I know the homeless look - they arrive at the front steps of my other volunteer job every Monday morning. Yes, I was wearing jeans - but they were dark, neatly pressed, and worn with bright red flats. My knit top had black and white stripes. I looked nice, I know I did. Well, maybe I looked a tad cold but nicely cold. What can I say? Stephanie says the fact that I was standing at a bus stop may have contributed to the woman thinking I was homeless. I am working hard at convincing myself it was just part of the unique Portland experience. Either way, what an incredible thing for her to do. Also possibly embarrassing.
Once at the library, I helped my shift partner open the gift shop where we volunteer. You may remember that, in an earlier entry, I noted that I was not looking for new friends, that I am enjoying this new anonymity? Well, God was listening, and made sure I got what I asked for. My shift partner, Leif is a young man, 28 years old, a part time student at Portland State, who hopes to become an engineer. So why did I originally think he may not be possible friend material? Due to surgery he can only speak in a very low whisper, so low that I have to stand right next to him to be able to understand what he is saying. It is a tad awkward to keep saying, "What?" or "Excuse me?" or "I didn't quite catch that" so we probably exchanged less than 50 words during our first shift together. He asked me nothing while I carefully worked around him. Today, 5 shifts later, we are becoming friends, and chat throughout our 3 hours together. It is helped by the fact that the store is very slow on weekends so we have a lot of time with little to do other than talk. Today he was working on some math - algebra. I told him this was a topic I wished I knew better - I had not paid attention in freshman year of high school, and it really affected my later efforts in geometry, algebra II and trig. I don't know how I survived those higher levels of math when my understanding of basic algebra was so weak. As we talked, a customer came in to peruse our used books for sale. As we kept talking - "What was the rationale for the order of operations?""Why did multiplication precede addition?""Could the square of a number ever be negative?" the customer joined in. He asked for a piece of paper and soon had it covered with algebraic equations as he tried to explain the use of the imaginary number, i, to both of us. Not sure how this pesky i got into the discussion and I remain clueless, mind you, about what was happening on his piece of paper, but I was charmed by his interest in sharing his love of numbers. Another bit of Portland.
When my shift ended, I walked a block over and caught MAX (their BART equivalent) down to Saturday Market at Riverfront Park to look for some gifts for friends I am visiting in France next month. I haven't been back to Saturday Market in several years and, my, it has grown. The maze of booths selling products made by local artisans located under a highway overpass along the Willamette River is now spread over 3 blocks. Today the bright sun (See? I was right to leave my hoodie home.) brought out hordes of people. I had fun moving among the booths, looking for the perfect gift. When I found what I thought would work, I asked the artist who made the two necklaces to model each while I snapped photos of her which I then texted to a cousin who is going with me. Are these okay? You gotta love technology!
With gifts safely stashed away, back to MAX and a transfer to my bus home. Sat next to a young mother with her 2-year old son on her lap. She recently moved here from San Diego and is having a bit of trouble adjusting to the weather but agreed that today was simply lovely. Her child was adorable - almost as cute as Wesley. As I walked home from my bus stop I stopped to chat with folks gathered around new planter boxes constructed outside a small apartment house near my street corner. I had noticed the new empty boxes when I walked past last Saturday but now they were full of dirt with lots of plants, still in their plastic pots, marking the spots where they would soon be planted. To me, they seemed way too close - just wait until those zucchinis take over the rest of the box - but I said nothing. Gardening is a learning process, a delighful learning process, and is best learned from experience, not from nosy neighbors like me horning in with unasked for advice. Instead I played with the two labs who cavorted among the boxes and the families gathered to plant.
A lovely Portland day. One in which, please dear God, I did not look homeless.
I think Portland's weirdness is beautifully showcased in the television program, Portlandia. If you haven't see it, get ready. It is very different from the usual TV fare. Think early years of Saturday Night Live. It has the same unevenness - some skits work, others don't, some need editing but when they hit, they are so very funny. I'd describe the premise as taking something unique to Portland - a local trend, fashion statement, political event and then tweaking it. Exaggerating it. When I am watching it, I am in awe of the writers' abilities to capture an essence of Portland. Unlike SNL, there are only two main characters and many of the skits are ongoing. Very funny - in its own weird way.
Today's outing illustrates the unique style of life in Portland. It started out with an incredible weather forecast. It's going to be sunny and warm this weekend - 81 degrees tomorrow. No rain expected at all. It has been so gray for the last several weeks that this is truly amazing. Right now it's 74 degrees and, for the first time since last Fall, I am in shorts and my very favorite beat-up-but-fit-perfectly flip flops are on my feet. Ah, heaven! And the view out my attic window? Bright sun shines on my SE Avenue and all the tulips, rhododendron blossoms and daffodils sparkle. Lots of kids outside playing. Bee-you-tee-ful.
But this Saturday morning didn't start out that way; it was the usual overcast and cool. Even so, I made the decision to leave my hoodie behind when I left for my volunteer job down town at the main branch of the library. I didn't want to have to carry my hoodie when the sun broke through so I hugged my light knit short-sleeved top close as I stood on McLaughlin waiting for my bus. Another man came up and we chatted - the usual bus stop chatter - the weather, what was happening in the neighborhood around us, etc. Suddenly a car pulled over into the bus zone and the woman driver waved at us. The man stepped forward, leaned in, listened and then turned to me, "She wants to talk to you." Much surprised I leaned forward to hear her ask, "Are you warm enough? If not, do you want this jacket?" as she pointed to one on her passenger seat. I was stunned, shook my head, thanked her, and assured her I was okay. As she drove off, the man and I looked at each other and agreed this was amazing, although he added that he too was surprised at how I was dressed. At this point another horrid thought entered my mind but I did not have the nerve to ask, "Do I look pathetic and homeless?" Didn't want to hear his answer but, in thinking about it, I KNOW I didn't. I know the homeless look - they arrive at the front steps of my other volunteer job every Monday morning. Yes, I was wearing jeans - but they were dark, neatly pressed, and worn with bright red flats. My knit top had black and white stripes. I looked nice, I know I did. Well, maybe I looked a tad cold but nicely cold. What can I say? Stephanie says the fact that I was standing at a bus stop may have contributed to the woman thinking I was homeless. I am working hard at convincing myself it was just part of the unique Portland experience. Either way, what an incredible thing for her to do. Also possibly embarrassing.
Once at the library, I helped my shift partner open the gift shop where we volunteer. You may remember that, in an earlier entry, I noted that I was not looking for new friends, that I am enjoying this new anonymity? Well, God was listening, and made sure I got what I asked for. My shift partner, Leif is a young man, 28 years old, a part time student at Portland State, who hopes to become an engineer. So why did I originally think he may not be possible friend material? Due to surgery he can only speak in a very low whisper, so low that I have to stand right next to him to be able to understand what he is saying. It is a tad awkward to keep saying, "What?" or "Excuse me?" or "I didn't quite catch that" so we probably exchanged less than 50 words during our first shift together. He asked me nothing while I carefully worked around him. Today, 5 shifts later, we are becoming friends, and chat throughout our 3 hours together. It is helped by the fact that the store is very slow on weekends so we have a lot of time with little to do other than talk. Today he was working on some math - algebra. I told him this was a topic I wished I knew better - I had not paid attention in freshman year of high school, and it really affected my later efforts in geometry, algebra II and trig. I don't know how I survived those higher levels of math when my understanding of basic algebra was so weak. As we talked, a customer came in to peruse our used books for sale. As we kept talking - "What was the rationale for the order of operations?""Why did multiplication precede addition?""Could the square of a number ever be negative?" the customer joined in. He asked for a piece of paper and soon had it covered with algebraic equations as he tried to explain the use of the imaginary number, i, to both of us. Not sure how this pesky i got into the discussion and I remain clueless, mind you, about what was happening on his piece of paper, but I was charmed by his interest in sharing his love of numbers. Another bit of Portland.
When my shift ended, I walked a block over and caught MAX (their BART equivalent) down to Saturday Market at Riverfront Park to look for some gifts for friends I am visiting in France next month. I haven't been back to Saturday Market in several years and, my, it has grown. The maze of booths selling products made by local artisans located under a highway overpass along the Willamette River is now spread over 3 blocks. Today the bright sun (See? I was right to leave my hoodie home.) brought out hordes of people. I had fun moving among the booths, looking for the perfect gift. When I found what I thought would work, I asked the artist who made the two necklaces to model each while I snapped photos of her which I then texted to a cousin who is going with me. Are these okay? You gotta love technology!
With gifts safely stashed away, back to MAX and a transfer to my bus home. Sat next to a young mother with her 2-year old son on her lap. She recently moved here from San Diego and is having a bit of trouble adjusting to the weather but agreed that today was simply lovely. Her child was adorable - almost as cute as Wesley. As I walked home from my bus stop I stopped to chat with folks gathered around new planter boxes constructed outside a small apartment house near my street corner. I had noticed the new empty boxes when I walked past last Saturday but now they were full of dirt with lots of plants, still in their plastic pots, marking the spots where they would soon be planted. To me, they seemed way too close - just wait until those zucchinis take over the rest of the box - but I said nothing. Gardening is a learning process, a delighful learning process, and is best learned from experience, not from nosy neighbors like me horning in with unasked for advice. Instead I played with the two labs who cavorted among the boxes and the families gathered to plant.
A lovely Portland day. One in which, please dear God, I did not look homeless.
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